⤷ muselist found here ⤷ leave an idea/plot/character you want in the subject line. ⤷ you can leave your comment blank or create your own scenario. ⤷ have fun!
Sakuma, [he says, his voice in no way loud but still managing to carry over back to the man behind him. Like a voice speaking directly to his mind, as if the world around them had gone completely silent. Not even the wind can snatch away his voice.
He can't dedicate himself completely to this. He told his team in Europe -- the team that helped him heal, more than anything in his life had up to this point, that he would go back. He told Kiyama and Endou that he'd take care of Hakuryuu, and he promised to himself that if there was anybody in this world who would never know abandonment at his hands, it'll be that child. But what he could do... he wanted to do it.]
[It was as if the motor itself had silenced in order to make way for his voice. Because Sakuma had heard him loud and clear, even beneath that helmet. A single gold eye widens as he sinks into Fudou's every word, attention fully grabbed as his fingers grip tighter to that jacket.
Somewhere deep down, he knew that his fantasies would never come to fruition. So many things had changed--Fudou and Sakuma themselves, their jobs, their goals, their responsibilities. And Sakuma's hope that somewhere deep down Fudou held something other than guilt for him wavered like a flickering candle. He's not sure why he held out this long. Maybe it's the small shreds of kindness Fudou's shone since he came back with that child in his care. Maybe he really was as delusional as people had made him sound.
It was fine. He'd already taken the steps to build himself up to this.
...So why did something like this send his stomach tumbling again? Was he really that desperate for some form of affection? Pathetic, Sakuma.
A silent response is the best he can manage, a slow nod of affirmation before pressing his head to his back again, hoping that maybe his thoughts would drift elsewhere.]
Just for one moment, very briefly, Fudou's hand leaves the handle of the motorcycle to rest over Sakuma's, warm hand covering his smaller one, shielding it from the sharp wind. It's gone as soon as it came, the roar of the wind coming back as soon as their exchange is over, drowning out any other sounds for the rest of the drive.
When Fudou stops, they're at a place where that wind smells of the sea, the sound of waves lapping at the harbor reaching their ears as the reverberation of the engine fades away. Fudou stays on the motorcycle even once it's stopped, waiting for Sakuma to get to his feet, but he says, very softly,]
[The touch was brief, but the feeling shot through his body like electricity, feeling the rough, worn fingers gloss over his smoother, smaller ones. He remembers when he was actually just a fraction taller than Fudou back in Middle School, how that boy quickly sprung up over the course of a year, while Sakuma himself had grown more steadily. Now he can't help but laugh at how Fudou's hand could now take hold of his pretty easily, strong and rough on the outside just like Fudou himself...
No, this was NOT the thought he wanted to change to! Fingers grip into that cloth more as he curses to himself, waiting for whatever it was that Fudou wanted to show him. There's no more conversation, nothing else heard aside from the wind whipping past them. And...maybe that was a good thing.
It's not until Fudou pulls up to their destination that Sakuma even gets a hint of where they're at. The smell of salt, sea, and sand was familiar--a scent he always truly loved as he raises his head, peeking over Fudou's shoulder.
And before he can be stopped, Sakuma gets off the motorcycle, walking forward to see the coastline, its waves lapping up against the shore, the briny smell of sea infiltrating that helmet until he pulls it off, feeling the salt cling to his nostrils and the wind whipping his ponytail over his shoulder.]
This place...
[He smiles, golden eye softening as it follows the tide in and out. To be honest...he's not sure what about the sea makes it so alluring. Maybe it's because across it lie where his dreams were. Maybe because it's where so many of his friends went, and he wanted to join them. Maybe it was the tidepools, how with every crash of wave a new ecosystem was born. Another chance at life because of a simple pulling of the ocean.
Maybe it was the air--so fresh and invigorating unlike the stuffy walls of the school he worked in all day (and sometimes all night). Maybe he envied the water itself, who could go anywhere and everywhere it wanted. You couldn't chain the sea to any one specific thing.
No matter what it was...it was his favourite spot in the whole world.]
[Sakuma wanders away from the motorcycle and toward the water as if in a trance, and Fudou stays by the bike to give him some space for a few moments. He pulls the helmet off, feeling the wind tug at his own hair too, and watches the way he moves slowly, eyes on the dark sea stretching far beyond and the city lights reflecting on its surface.
Even amongst all the lights of the city that twinkled, the one that shone the brightest was--]
... I figured with how cooped up you always are, you haven't had time to come somewhere like this in a while.
[If Sakuma could name one thing he hated about Fudou, it was his ability to always be right about things. Maybe it pissed him off in high school, when the boy somehow got slightly higher marks than him when he'd barely (visibly) studied, but now, it was how he always seemed to know what Sakuma needed. A change of pace, the feel of a motorcycle ride, the idea that if he could just get away for a moment...he could stop wallowing in how lonely his life was.
Did he mention he really hated when Fudou was RIGHT?]
You're right.
It's so close, and yet I never find myself driving down this way. Guess I get too caught up in things.
[A humble admission, fingers tracing along the seams of that bike helmet as he paces the shoreline.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
He can't dedicate himself completely to this. He told his team in Europe -- the team that helped him heal, more than anything in his life had up to this point, that he would go back. He told Kiyama and Endou that he'd take care of Hakuryuu, and he promised to himself that if there was anybody in this world who would never know abandonment at his hands, it'll be that child. But what he could do... he wanted to do it.]
I'm going to kidnap you for a little bit.
no subject
Somewhere deep down, he knew that his fantasies would never come to fruition. So many things had changed--Fudou and Sakuma themselves, their jobs, their goals, their responsibilities. And Sakuma's hope that somewhere deep down Fudou held something other than guilt for him wavered like a flickering candle. He's not sure why he held out this long. Maybe it's the small shreds of kindness Fudou's shone since he came back with that child in his care. Maybe he really was as delusional as people had made him sound.
It was fine. He'd already taken the steps to build himself up to this.
...So why did something like this send his stomach tumbling again? Was he really that desperate for some form of affection? Pathetic, Sakuma.
A silent response is the best he can manage, a slow nod of affirmation before pressing his head to his back again, hoping that maybe his thoughts would drift elsewhere.]
no subject
Just for one moment, very briefly, Fudou's hand leaves the handle of the motorcycle to rest over Sakuma's, warm hand covering his smaller one, shielding it from the sharp wind. It's gone as soon as it came, the roar of the wind coming back as soon as their exchange is over, drowning out any other sounds for the rest of the drive.
When Fudou stops, they're at a place where that wind smells of the sea, the sound of waves lapping at the harbor reaching their ears as the reverberation of the engine fades away. Fudou stays on the motorcycle even once it's stopped, waiting for Sakuma to get to his feet, but he says, very softly,]
We're here.
no subject
No, this was NOT the thought he wanted to change to! Fingers grip into that cloth more as he curses to himself, waiting for whatever it was that Fudou wanted to show him. There's no more conversation, nothing else heard aside from the wind whipping past them. And...maybe that was a good thing.
It's not until Fudou pulls up to their destination that Sakuma even gets a hint of where they're at. The smell of salt, sea, and sand was familiar--a scent he always truly loved as he raises his head, peeking over Fudou's shoulder.
And before he can be stopped, Sakuma gets off the motorcycle, walking forward to see the coastline, its waves lapping up against the shore, the briny smell of sea infiltrating that helmet until he pulls it off, feeling the salt cling to his nostrils and the wind whipping his ponytail over his shoulder.]
This place...
[He smiles, golden eye softening as it follows the tide in and out. To be honest...he's not sure what about the sea makes it so alluring. Maybe it's because across it lie where his dreams were. Maybe because it's where so many of his friends went, and he wanted to join them. Maybe it was the tidepools, how with every crash of wave a new ecosystem was born. Another chance at life because of a simple pulling of the ocean.
Maybe it was the air--so fresh and invigorating unlike the stuffy walls of the school he worked in all day (and sometimes all night). Maybe he envied the water itself, who could go anywhere and everywhere it wanted. You couldn't chain the sea to any one specific thing.
No matter what it was...it was his favourite spot in the whole world.]
no subject
Even amongst all the lights of the city that twinkled, the one that shone the brightest was--]
... I figured with how cooped up you always are, you haven't had time to come somewhere like this in a while.
no subject
Did he mention he really hated when Fudou was RIGHT?]
You're right.
It's so close, and yet I never find myself driving down this way. Guess I get too caught up in things.
[A humble admission, fingers tracing along the seams of that bike helmet as he paces the shoreline.]
There's never enough hours in a day.